


Until the Black

by NebulousFrog



Category: Jurassic Park - All Media Types, Jurassic Park Original Trilogy (Movies), Jurassic Park Series - Michael Crichton
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, unresolved PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 20:14:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousFrog/pseuds/NebulousFrog
Summary: Ian Malcolm accepted the trip to Isla Nublar having no idea what might happen. Despite his non-linear equations, Dr. Malcolm struggles to hold on to reality, let alone 'life.'





	Until the Black

**Author's Note:**

> I know so many people say this, but...I am cripplingly, horrifyingly, PLZ-EAT-ME, T-rex scared of sharing my writing.Much more so then the standard, "R&R plzzzzzz!"--I really, really want some feedback. It'll be incredibly helpful with me continuing any kind of writing, since I tend to get discouraged very easily.

\----

It was true, how time seemed to slow. With a roar that shook his bones, Ian felt the Rex’s hot breath rush past him with the force of a violent breeze. He gagged at the horrible smell of rot and death; morbid ghosts of the lives the Rex had already consumed. 

And he, Dr. Ian Malcom, acclaimed chaotician, was going to join all the goats and sheep and God knows what else this hellbeast had already eaten, as if his life was worth no more than a farm animal’s. 

It felt like eternity, watching that massive head crash toward him. Twenty feet, ten feet, five feet-- 

Yet when the Rex’s teeth closed over his leg and it violently wrenched him into the air, everything accelerated into a blinding rush of chaos. And this was a chaos he did not enjoy.

He’d hoped it would be fast. Maybe a brief, flashing crunch of pain, and then nothing. Maybe blackness, or maybe the oh-so fantastical happily-ever-after afterlife. 

Yet he was granted neither. A primal, horrified scream ripped from his throat as the Rex slung him in the air when the ease and carelessness of a dog playing with a chew toy. White hot pain seared through his leg as flesh ripped from bone within the beasts’ merciless teeth. 

Ian was certain his leg would snap apart at any moment, or the that the Rex might force down its jaw, taking his leg off entirely. In flashes of horror he couldn’t control, he imagined a crunch--falling to the ground with a sickening snap of bones--looking up as teeth came down on him again, perhaps taking off his arm this time--slinging him about, slowly eating him, PLAYING with him--

He didn’t know why he had time to imagine these things. He didn’t know why he wasn’t already dead. Losing his mind with fear, he kicked desperately with his free leg. There was no strategy, no plan. Yet his polished, pointed shoe punched forcefully into the terrorbeast’s nostril, kicking the soft, hot flesh behind the thick, scaly skin. 

The queen of beasts didn’t like that. She opened her mouth in a roar, and Ian felt gravity take him into it’s uncaring arms. His mauled leg slid out of the mouth, and his foot slorped out of the hot nostril. 

He faced the sky as he fell. He watched as the Rex’s head rushed away from him, and had just enough time to wonder how many bones he would break on impact before he crashed into a tangle of leafy brambles. 

\----

He desperately wanted everything to go black--anything to feel relief from this circus of terror. 

Yet it didn’t. He took two deep, gasping breaths before his brain caught up with one crucial fact: miraculously, more miraculously than he could really bring himself to believe, he didn’t feel an excess of broken bones from the fall. 

Yet really, that was only a small mercy. He was frozen in terror as he stared upward at the annoyed Rex. She shook her head and snorted, trying to clear the feel of being jabbed hard in the soft, fleshy part of her nostril. 

Ian could almost laugh. Delirious from pain and fear, it felt hilarious that something like accidentally kicking her in the nose could make a difference. Yet he was too winded and his breath still too seized by fear to be able to wheeze out the sound. 

It was only when the Rex looked around, chomping her teeth in annoyance as she cast her small eyes about, that he remembered what Grant had said; that the beast, for all her might, struggles to see still prey. 

This fact had completely slipped his mind. But he hadn’t moved, and still had no desire to move. As the shock of still being breathing faded, he could feel his leg reignite with renewed pain. He didn’t dare look down.

It felt like ages before the Rex stomped off. Ian wanted nothing more to close his eyes--to go to sleep. Yet the urgent, debilitating pain in his leg at least kept him focused on the most pressing issue. 

He didn’t want to sit up. He didn’t want to look at what had to be sheer carnage with his leg. Yet there was enough self-preservation, enough I really, really don’t want to die left in him that he forced himself to sit up, anyway. 

His world swirled when he saw the chewed mass of red pretending to be his thigh. Barely keeping himself from vomiting, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to enjoy a piece of red meat the same way again. 

But that didn’t matter. He was bleeding. A LOT. He knew he had no hope of going anywhere, but he at least had to stop the bleeding. His head swam and his focus faltered. 

Bleeding. Bleeding. He searched desperately around. He ripped away part of his shirt into strips, tying it at the top of his leg as tightly as he could. He took a branch, a little thicker than his thumb, and slid it under the fabric, twisting it 180 degrees to twist the cloth tighter. That...that should keep him from bleeding out, he thought, he HOPED. 

Strength leaving him, everything finally went black. 

\----

He was surprised to open his eyes again, and watch the world blearily coalesce into something resembling consciousness. He was even more surprised to see two friendly--okay, kind of friendly--faces above him. Muldoon and Sattler. 

“Should we chance moving him?” he heard Sattler ask, even though it felt like he was miles away from both Sattler and the savvy Australian. 

The voices felt so, so far away. Some confused, disoriented part of his befuddled wasn’t even sure to acknowledge whether or not those voices were even real. A part of him considered that the voices might be an odd, chaotic version of his mortal body easing him into inevitable death.

Still, he felt strong arms heaving him into the back of the very-torn canvas-top Jeep. He swam in and out of consciousness, but some small, screaming part of his brain told him he was at least marginally safe. 

\---

The sense of safety didn’t last long. Even though Sattler and Muldoon had heaved him onto the back of the open-top jeep, he found himself splayed hopelessly across the back seats., despite the numbing pain shot Ellie had given him, from the first aid kit. He had no strength to argue, left to lay there as his colleagues investigated.

He felt a new, horrifying, pressing sense of fell once he was on the back of THAT Jeep. Ellie kept them going as fast as they could, with the aid of Muldoon. 

Still, within the course of a couple hours Ian knew that he was laying helplesslessly between Ellie, Muldoon, himself, and the kids. 

\---

Everything seemed to catch up with him once they were on the helicopter off the island. The adrenaline faded, and all that was left was the crashing realization of what they barely survived. He should have felt relieved; he knew he should. But instead he only felt his breath quickening and his heart beating faster in his chest, and deep, horrifying throbs from his leg. 

Voices around him faded in and out. He tried to grab onto slivers of thought, tried to think of something witty to quip, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a thin groan. It was low, primal. Sounded vaguely like--like an injured triceratops. His skin crawled and his heart skipped. He only belated remembered that he was the one that made the sound. That they’re away from the island, away from the dinosaurs. But the safety felt like a lie that could be swept away at any moment and be back in hell. 

He felt something sharp pinch his arm, and then everything faded into little more than blurs of color and sound. Yet before everything faded he could have sworn he heard a woman’s pinching sob…

He barely thought when he picked up the flare. He saw the red light of the flare bleeding its color onto him, and he felt his legs moving before he had even fully come to grips with what his decision would mean. 

He couldn’t just stand and watch as the kids got eaten. Hell, he could barely even stand to think of Dr. Grant getting killed. 

Yet as he ran, yelling and desperately waving the flare, his blood ran cold when he turned and saw the Rex coming after him. A deep, primal fear stabbed at him, deeper than he thought possible. He felt the dinosaur’s massive, quaking stomps, becoming louder and more forceful as it gained on him. Saw the muscles coil under the reptilian skin as it brought its head down. Felt the rush of hot, acrid breath.

When the fist-sized teeth were just feet from him, he acutely realized he was going to die. Terribly. 

And he really, really didn’t want to.


End file.
